


Just One Of Those Things

by vivamusmoriendumest



Category: American Horror Story, American Horror Story: Murder House
Genre: Crying, F/M, Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-21
Updated: 2021-02-21
Packaged: 2021-03-19 01:55:23
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,003
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29618820
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/vivamusmoriendumest/pseuds/vivamusmoriendumest
Summary: Breaking up is hard. It's even harder when your boyfriend is dead and somewhat emotionally unstable.
Relationships: Tate Langdon/Reader, Tate Langdon/You
Kudos: 6





	Just One Of Those Things

“I think it was just one of those things, y’know?” tears pricked your eyes. “One of those things where you wanted it to work, you wanted it to work so bad that you made it work. But then you wake up one day and realize it didn’t work from the start. It never worked, you just wanted it so bad. It never worked for us, Tate. We just wanted it too much.”

You hate seeing him sad, you hated seeing him crying or upset. It tore you apart from the inside out. So instead of assessing his reaction, your eyes glued to the ground.

His hand covered his mouth, sobs breaking out from behind his lips. He shook his head. “No, Naomi, please don’t do this.”

You started to tear up. Your eyebrows furrowed.

“Please don’t do this to us.” he said, his shoulders shaking with every wretch, every sob.

And that’s when it happened. Your eyes flicked up to his. You couldn’t stand not looking at him anymore. You cared, you really did. You cared too much right now though. You needed to be able to walk away but his tears and soft sniffles and curly blond hair wouldn’t help.  
But still you couldn’t help but look up.

“I’m sorry–I really am–but we’re not an ‘us’ anymore. You’re just Tate and I’m just Naomi.” you said, stumbling over a few words. His pretty brown eyes stared into yours, silently begging not to do this; not to leave him. Everybody left him and he couldn’t bear having you as another addition to the long list of people who did.

“You don’t really mean that.” he uttered sadly. His long eyelashes fluttered under the weight of his hefty tears. His black sweater contrasted the paleness of his face and the soft rose flush of his cheeks.

“I-I do,” a shaky breath exited your lips.

His puppy dog eyes gazed into yours with an unexplainable look. A look that said a million different things and brought you back to a hundred different memories.  
Laying in bed together, his fingertips grazing your side; His honey coloured hair being brushed through by your fingers; His green and black striped sweater hanging on the hook in your bedroom; His sly smile and the smoke from his cigarette fleeing his perfect lips the first day you met–your first day dead–on the ledge next to the big window you could see the whole front yard of murder house from.  
It all came rushing back as if the last thirty years hadn’t happened. As if you were both still stupid hormonal teenagers in love. As if it were still the 90s and he was still almost completely Tate and you were still almost completely you. As if nothing had really changed.

And then it really hit you. If you left him, where would you go? Ben Harmon was an asshole and Vivien probably would never want to be within 500 feet of you. Violet was sweet to you but was upfront about her persistence about not acknowledging Tate in any way. Would that extend to you? Nora was a motherly figure to both you and Tate, especially after your parents left LA following your death. She’d understand the split. But she was spacy and sometimes hard to find and distant. Hayden was a force to be reckoned with and primarily only fucked with Ben, Chad and Patrick stuck together only because they resented everyone else in the house more than they did each other. They were venomous towards Tate and it was easily justifiable and yet they were always nice to you. They treated you like the kid they always wanted minus the obsession. They were guardian-like but also not people to worship the ground you walked on–like they would’ve done with their own child.

“You said you wouldn’t leave me,” he exclaimed, his sobs overpowering his voice. He was hiccuping and crying and he looked so tragically beautiful and, fuck, you wanted to hug him and comfort him and all the details were making this so much harder than it should’ve been.

He was right and you hated that this was so hard to do and you just wished it could all be over. Then you realized, it could. If only you were to muster up the courage to say those two words. It could be so much easier, it could be over so much faster. You could just banish him and be done with all of this.

“I’m not leaving, Tate. I’m done. I can’t do this anymore.”

“Why not?” he choked out.

“I hate who I’ve become, Tate. I hate that I love you–that I love, am in love with a serial killer and a fucking…”

You trailed off. You were overcome with sadness and guilt and disgust.

“I can’t even say it. You know what you fucking did.” You spat your words out and they tasted bitter leaving your mouth. “And I can’t live with myself to love you and be around you and be yours anymore. I’m at my breaking point, Tate.”

“Please don’t leave.”

“Don’t you understand? I’m done. It’s over. It’s all over. You need to let me go.” You bit your lip. “Or I’ll do it for you.”

You could see the desperation in his eyes, the pleading look to not say those words. “Please, Naomi, Please don’t. Don’t let me go.”

“Tate-”

“Just give me another chance, I can make it all better, I can-”

“Tate!” You shouted. “Go-”

“Please, please don’t say it.” He raised his voice. A hand reached out to touch you. You closed your eyes. He screamed for you not to do it, not to let him go forever. His voice got louder and louder more anguished each time until all you could hear was his voice.

“Go away.” You bellowed. The room was quiet. Everything seemed to stop. You opened your eyes and he was gone. You were finally at peace.


End file.
